


A Winter Romance

by Magnetism_bind



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Blowjobs, Carpet Sex, Champagne, Flirting, Holding Hands, Holidays, M/M, Making Out, Shower Sex, Skiing, Skiing makeouts, Sleeping Together, Slow Dancing, Top!Clark, Train Sex, Winter Romance, Wrestling, post-Christmas fluff, top!bruce
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-03-01 08:30:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2766446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magnetism_bind/pseuds/Magnetism_bind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent meet as they head off on a skiing vacation just after Christmas. Champagne and sex, making out in the snow and slow dances by the fireside - there's nothing like a winter romance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Winter Romance

**Author's Note:**

> Title from 'A Winter Romance' - Dean Martin https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1ODOEdqo7bU

_A Happy Circumstance_

 

He was going to miss his train. Bruce checked his watch again for the third time. This was the first vacation he’d taken in years and he was going to miss it because of traffic. This was what happened when he took a cab. Nobody got out of the way when you took a cab.

_Should have driven my own car._

Finally the cab pulled up at the train station. The driver turned round to look at him. “Want any help with your bags?”

“No, I’m good.” Bruce fished in his pocket for his wallet, handing the man a fifty. “Thanks.”

The train was still in the station. So far so good. Bruce walked swiftly through the crowd, balancing his laptop bag over one shoulder and duffel over the other. They were announcing departure times overhead. He started walking faster, narrowly avoiding running into a little old lady with a tiny dog.

“Sorry,” Bruce turned away from her and smacked straight into a young man with an armful of skis. One of the skis hit him smack in the forehead. Bruce winced, stumbling backwards. Two strong hands caught him by the arms, holding him upright just as he swayed.

“Oh my god, are you okay?”

The pain receded. Bruce blinked, tried to focus. The guy standing there in front of him was the fucking American daydream – thick dark curly hair, creamy skin, and a mouth that made Bruce think of ripe fruit on a summer’s day.

“Delicious.” Bruce murmured.

“Excuse me?”

“Um, sorry, I…” Slowly Bruce became aware of the man’s hands on his arms, still steadying him. God, the grip of him. “Thanks, I think I can stand now.” Not that he would have complained if the man had kept holding on.

“Oh, right. Sure.” The guy grinned, lowering his hands. He was still so close Bruce could smell him, an appealing blend of wintergreen and fresh shaving cream. It made Bruce want to lean in and smell him better.

“I’m really sorry about hitting you with the ski.” The guy apologized again.

“That’s okay.” Bruce touched his forehead gingerly. Yeah, he was gonna have a bruise. The pain was nothing. Usually he tried to avoid the face when he got injured. At least this time it would take a few days before he had to make up a story about it. Actually, he realized, this was one time he didn’t have to make up anything. A meet-cute story bumping skis was something the gossip tabloids would lap up with a spoon.

The train whistle sounded and the guy jumped.

“I have to be on that train.” He started scrambling around, trying to gather all his belongings. Bruce reached down to help and their hands brushed over the ski.

_*zing*_

Bruce had been electrocuted before. It was not a pleasant activity and he would never recommend it to another human being. This was nothing like that. Sparks spread outward from their fingertips, skittering like wildfire over his raw skin. The guy just smiled right at him, and dazzled, Bruce’s mouth went completely dry. They were just frozen, staring into each other’s eyes there amongst the crowd of the train station.

“I-" Bruce fumbled. God, why was it so hard to say something coherent.

“Your forehead.” The guy began.

Out of the corner of his eye Bruce saw the train starting to move. “Shit.” He grabbed his bags and ran after it. Behind him, the younger man raced along, clutching haphazardly at his skis. Bruce jumped up on the train platform and turned back after him, “Here!”

The guy reached up a hand and Bruce tugged him up onto the train, skis, luggage and all. He stumbled forward, right into Bruce’s arms. The guy chuckled, still just grinning at him and Bruce couldn’t help smiling back.

The train pulled out of Gotham Station and for the first time in a long time, Bruce's spirits lightened. He was on vacation, and whatever was about to happen, seemed very promising indeed.

“Wow.” The younger man straightened up. “After all that kinda feel like I should introduce myself.” He fumbled, moving his skis to his other arm and held out a hand. “Clark –“

“Bruce.” Bruce said quickly, cutting him off before Clark could say anything more. He was on vacation. For once he just wanted to be himself, a new version of himself. Nobody needed to know where Vacation Bruce came from.

The young guy got it. “Pleasure to meet you.” His eyes twinkled as they shook hands. “So…what car are you in?”

“Actually, I have a suite reserved.” Bruce told him. It had sounded perfect when Alfred told him about the reservation.

“Oh.” Clark looked disappointed. “Well, that sounds, uh very nice and private. Maybe I’ll see you later in the dining car.”

“Maybe.” Bruce watched him tuck his skis under his arm. “Unless you’d like to join me in my suite now?”

* * *

Bruce led the way through the train corridors, Clark nervously balancing his skis over his shoulder, trying not to bash anything else with it. He felt bad enough already about Bruce’s forehead.

“Here we are.” Bruce unlocked the door and held it open.

“Oh, you don’t want me to put those in there. Surely there’s somewhere else I can stick them.” Clark tried to turn around and Bruce ducked to avoid getting hit in the head again.

“Look.” He held out a hand, and Clark stopped dead in the hallway. “Let’s leave them here for right now, and get the conductor to put them in the luggage compartment later. Mine are already in there. If that’s okay with you.”

“Yeah,” Clark blushed. “That’s fine. Just…”

“Just what?” Bruce waited expectantly.

“Just as long as they’re okay.” Clark finished.

Bruce raised his eyebrows. “They? Your skis are a they?”

“They were a Christmas present from my mom. Actually this whole trip is…” Clark waved his hand. “Anyway, I just...” He stopped talking as Bruce simply took the skis from him and stowed them in a corner of the suite. Clark looked away, biting his lip as the man straightened up. The last thing he needed was to get caught staring at the man's ass.

“They’ll be fine right there. I promise. Come on in.”

Clark stepped further into the suite. “Wow, this is…” He’d been impressed just being on the train itself, but the suite, _whoa._

“Would you like something to drink?” Bruce opened a cupboard and rolled out the sidebar.

“Sure.” Clark set his bag down. He got a better look around the suite while Bruce fixed them each a drink. There was a wide fold-out bunk with two plump pillows and a thick cozy duvet laid over it. A table area and a little kitchenette took up one end of the suite, shower and bathroom at the other. Under the broad windowsill was a window-sofa seat. Clark went over to it, looking out. The snowy fields the train was passing was something straight out of a postcard. Clark smiled. His mom had been right. This trip was a good idea.

“Here.”

He turned to see Bruce holding out a glass. “Thanks.”

“To a much-needed break.” Bruce clinked his glass against Clark’s. “Cheers.”

“Cheers.” Clark took a sip. Light white wine, crisp and dry with just the faintest sweetness on his tongue. Not what he necessarily would have tried on his own, but perfect somehow in this setting. He took another sip and eyed the man opposite him, drinking his own wine.

“So…” He cleared his throat.

“So.” Bruce echoed. “Let me guess. You’re going for the skiing.”

“Right in one, detective.” Clark took another drink, almost but not quite missing the look on Bruce’s face. “What?”

“Nothing.” Bruce shook his head. “So, skiing. You do a lot of that?” He took a seat on the window-seat, gesturing for Clark to sit as well. He hid a smile as Clark sat down a little close to him, thigh bumping into his.

“Not really.” Clark shrugged. “Once in college. This was kinda a spur-of the moment thing.” He shifted slightly, but not so much so that Bruce’s knee was too far away from his.

“You said it was a gift from your mom.”

“Yeah. She thought it would be good for me.” Clark looked momentarily uncomfortable at the admission. “What about you?”

“Saw a chance to get away and took it hence the late departure on a Saturday afternoon.” Bruce took a drink from his wine. “Well, actually my bu-…friend, booked it for me. He thought I needed it.”

“Oh, I see.” Clark felt heat rising in his cheek. Damnit. He’d thought…well, it didn’t matter what he thought. Shit, how had he been so stupid? _You saw a handsome guy on a train and you just swooned into his arms and you actually thought he was single, how naive was that?_

“What?”

Clark took another sip to avoid answering and coughed on the wine.

“What were you thinking?”

“Nothing.”

“Sure you weren’t,” Bruce drawled. He was looking a tad amused.

“Just…will your friend be joining you?” Clark glanced down, and then up again. Amusement definitely lightened Bruce’s mouth, softening it at the corners. If he hadn’t thought about kissing him before, Clark was certainly picturing it now. _Damnit._

“No.” Bruce answered. “He will not. On account of the fact that he thinks the idea of skiing is the exactly opposite of relaxing. His idea of a holiday is sitting somewhere warm in the sun with a bottle of wine and reading.”

“Oh.” Clark stared down at his wine.

Bruce took another sip. “Also we’re just business partners.”

Clark looked up in time to see Bruce smiling at him. “Oh,” He said, “Right. Good.”

"Good," Bruce repeated. "It's good that I don't have an actual partner who's going away with me?" He’d have to tell Alfred who always acted as though his state of bachelorhood was an affront to humanity. At least somebody thought it was good.

"I meant good because if you did I wouldn't have felt right asking you to join me on the slopes later." Clark clarified. He had a feeling that Bruce had picked up on his interest by now, but it never hurt to be upfront about it. If Bruce wasn’t interested, no hard feelings and they could just both enjoy their vacation in peace.

Bruce regarded him over his wine. "Later?"

"Yeah, once we've had a chance to check in and-"

"What about now?” Bruce interrupted.

"What about now?" Clark repeated. He was blushing ever so slightly, but he wasn’t nervous. Bruce could tell.

"We have at least four hours till we arrive at the lodge." Bruce reached over and took the wine glass from Clark's hand, "and I wasn't planning on leaving this compartment any time soon so unless you felt like going elsewhere-"

Clark simply leaned in and kissed him. His soft lips melded with Bruce’s as they moved in closer on the window seat. The sparks that had electrified Bruce when he just touched fingertips threatened to overwhelm him now. Cupping Clark’s jaw in his hands he let his tongue slip lightly between his parted lips.

Clark was drowning, intoxicated. _Close - warm - Bruce's tongue on his, Bruce’s hands on his skin_. His heart raced as Bruce pulled him even closer. He was practically on Bruce’s lap at this point. They were both fumbling with Bruce’s jacket, pulling it off and tossing it to the floor. Clark’s sweater bunched up between them and Bruce just laughed, kissing him harder, biting at Clark's lower lip.

“I, need,” Clark pulled back. “We…” He could barely breathe, all his senses were on overload. Arousal filled the air between them. The heat of Bruce’s dick through his pants made his own pants tighten in response.

Bruce’s hands slid down his back, “What?”

His hand cupped Clark’s ass as Clark surged against him. Clark groaned as Bruce’s fingers held him firmly as his dick nudged between Clark’s thighs.

“It’s just…uh, bed.” Clark managed. “There’ll be a bed at the resort.” They were still on the window-seat. Neither of them was exactly short.

"We have a bed." Bruce pointed out. He didn’t want to go anywhere from this spot. Clark’s hair was delightfully tousled. Bruce dragged his finger up through the soft waves, pulling lightly at a curl.

"We have a bunk." Clark said. "But as you said… four hours." What was he even saying? He wasn’t picky.

Plenty of time to get to the bed.

  
_The Passing Scenery Didn’t Get a Glance_

 

"At least.” Bruce murmured. “Shall I…” His fingers trailed down over Clark’s zipper.

“Yes, please.” Clark held his breath as Bruce unzipped his pants. Then Bruce's hand was inside his jeans, stroking over the seam of his briefs. The touch was light, barely enough to satisfy.

“If you’re just going to tease,” Clark started to say, then bit off the words with a gasp as Bruce’s fingers slid all the way down between his legs.

“Come here.” Bruce drew him down for another kiss, fingers tangled in Clark’s hair. He pressed his lips to Clark's throat, drinking in Clark’s scent as Clark rubbed against him, slowly, hungrily, until Bruce couldn’t handle it anymore. He rolled them both over, tumbling Clark down on the window-seat on his back.

“Whoa.” Clark gazed up at him.

“What?” Bruce’s hands hovered on his thighs, waiting.

“Just that you’re…”

“What?”

“Quicker than you look.” Clark managed. He wasn’t going to say stronger. It was evident that Bruce was built, but somehow he hadn’t expected the speed of that motion, or the simple ease. In another scenario, it could have been dangerous. But here…what danger was there here?

Bruce’s lip curled up slightly just at the corner. “Are you saying I’m old?”

“Not…remotely.” Clark’s words trailed away as Bruce lowered his head between his thighs. He stared in amazement as Bruce licked at the seam of his briefs, teasing the growing bulge there until Clark’s fingers were digging into the cushion of the window-seat. His dick was practically begging and finally, finally, finally, Bruce released it. He smirked at Clark, enjoying its eagerness.

“Tell me what you want."

“I think you have a pretty good idea already.” Clark licked his lips. If it wasn’t so obvious that Bruce clearly wanted to be here too, he’d have been more embarrassed by the way his dick was behaving.

“And I think you should tell me.” Bruce sat back. “You thirsty?”

“Where are you going?” Clark watched in amazement as he got up and went back to the bar. How could he just walk away like that?

“I need another drink.” Bruce told him. “And I might as well have it, since I’m waiting for you to tell me what you’d like have happen here.”

Clark smothered a groan of frustration and leaned back against the cushions. He took a moment, composing his thoughts. He did his best to ignore his dick, jutting out from his briefs. There were a lot of things he could say, but all he wanted was for Bruce to keep touching him.

“I’d like…” He said at last. “For you to come back over here and get me off with your mouth.”

Bruce took a sip of his drink. “And then what?”

“And then…” Clark licked his lips again, “I’d like you to fuck me.” He’d been thinking about this since he first caught Bruce by the arms in the station.

“After you’ve already come?” Bruce clarified, curious.

“Yeah.” Clark put an arm behind his head, gazing up at him. “I like how it feels then.”

“Alright.” Bruce took a final sip and set his glass down. Returning to the window seat he leaned over, brushing his lips across Clark’s – teasing, affectionate. “Now, was that so hard?”

“Shut up.” Clark’s hips bucked as Bruce moved down and took him in his mouth once more. Bruce drew him all the way down in one long, slick bobbing motion before pulling off again. Just because he knew what Clark wanted now, didn’t mean he was going to give it to him immediately. He repeated the gesture, watching Clark’s hips strain against giving everything up then and there to him.

Bruce lapped at the head, delicately, caressing the slit, then down, around in long, trailing motions with his tongue that left Clark breathless and dizzy. Two fingertips slipped down to rub gently at Clark’s balls, teasing him, urging him onward. Bruce’s hand smoothed over his hip, as his lips kissed along his dick again. Clark flattened his hand on the seat cushion as he came, watching in silent pleasure as Bruce’s head kept moving between his thighs. He was spent, blissed out and Bruce’s tongue kept trailing heatedly over him until he was lost to the world.

Finally Bruce drew off and gazed up at him. “How’re you now?”

Clark reached down and wrapped his fingers around the collar of Bruce’s shirt, pulling him up. Bruce crawled over him, straddling his thighs. His hand was warm on Clark’s cheek, cradling his face as his mouth met Clark’s. Clark tasted himself on Bruce’s tongue and smiled.

“Now,” Clark murmured.

“Now.”

“Where would you like to fuck me?” Clark whispered.

He was rewarded with a smile that promised dangerous things.

“I think the bunk will do for what I have in mind.” Bruce said. “For now.”

* * *

He stood back. “Come on.”

“I thought we had established the window seat was good enough for now.” Clark said. Could he actually move even if he had to? His legs felt deliciously pliant and relaxed – he was sated throughout his entire body. Really, the whole idea of moving was overrated.

Bruce licked his lips. “You really want me to fuck you right there?” He looked Clark up and down in a considering manner. “Right there where you’re laying?”

“Maybe I,” Clark started to say.

Bruce shook his head. “Your decision. Right there.” He stepped back and looked around. “Now. Lubricant?”

Clark raised himself up on his elbows. “What, you didn’t bring any?” He’d have guessed that Bruce was usually prepared for every possible scenario. He just seemed the type.

“Wasn’t exactly planning on this.” Bruce swept a hand through his hair looking around as though he might find something suitable.

“Clearly you rarely travel alone.” Clark reached over and grabbed his bag. He fished out a tube and looked up. “What?”

“What were you planning on doing with that all alone?” Bruce nodded at the lube.

“Oh, you know.”

“Tell me.” Bruce reached for Clark’s jeans. He pulled them down to his thighs and left them there.

“Well, after we get in at the lodge and I go skiing.”

“Night skiing?” Bruce inquired. “Since it’s going to be dark by the time we get there.” He took this opportunity to unlace his own shoes and slipped them off. He was wearing socks that had tiny penguins on them. Clark raised an eyebrow.

"Christmas present." Bruce shook his head. "A friend thought it was funny. Anyway, you were saying."

“I was saying I like night skiing.” Clark said lazily.

“Okay, so after night skiing.” Bruce prompted, starting to undo his pants.

“I’d take a hot shower and then,” Clark watched Bruce slip off his pants. “I’d get out of the shower.” His train of thought was momentarily derailed at the sight of Bruce’s thighs. He knew exactly how they would taste on his tongue. He couldn't wait to find out if he was right.

“No jerking off in the shower?”

Clark shrugged. “I’m on holiday.”

Shirt and boxers still on, Bruce picked up the lube again. “So…”

“I’d stretch out on the bed and just drift.” Clark watched him slick his fingers. His dick was still sated, resting against his thigh.

“No music, nothing on tv?” Bruce was fascinated. He liked the picture of this. It was refreshingly simple which somehow made it all the more extremely erotic.

“I’d listen.” Clark murmured. The way he listening now, to the sound of the train as it glided down the smooth rails. To the wind rustling through the trees. To the way Bruce’s heartbeat was steady, but running a little fast with excitement and desire.

Bruce was easing into him, curling his forefinger this way and that. Clark wanted to spread his legs wider but his jeans prohibited that. He suspected that was the whole point as to why Bruce had left them on. “Why don’t you take my pants off?”

“Pants come off when we fuck on the bunk.” Bruce added a little more lube, stretching him more before adding another finger. “Listen to what?”

“The silence.” Clark’s head fell back. “The snow drifting onto the trees, the peace and quiet.” Bruce’s fingers were magic, steadily moving inside him. It was bliss on Clark’s already pliant body. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting himself float as his breath came in gentle waves.

“You like the quiet.” Bruce paused.

“I do.” Clark opened his eyes. “Now what.”

“Well, you have lube, but I doubt you have condoms.” Bruce Wayne, billionaire playboy would have had condoms, but he wasn’t on vacation as Bruce Wayne billionaire playboy. Today he was just Bruce and Bruce hadn’t fucking planned ahead. Not for this. It galled him. He planned for everything, but somehow he hadn’t thought of this happening.

“You’re right on that.” Clark laid his head back and sighed.

Bruce sat back, running a hand though his hair. Goddamnit, why the hell hadn’t he packed anything? Suddenly, he remembered Alfred tucking his shaving kit into the corner pocket of his bag. Bruce got up from the window-seat and went over to check. There was his shaving kit like he expected, and there, in the small zipper pocket was a condom from god knows how many years ago. The kit had been his father's, and when he'd first gone off to college, he'd stuck a handful of them in there.

Clark’s eyebrow raised as he pulled it out. “Well, I was right. Always prepared.”

Bruce grimaced. “You’d like to think so.” He straddled Clark again, opening the packet. “Give me a minute.” He pulled it out and froze as the condom simply tore. “Fuck.”

“Hey, hey, that’s okay.” Clark caught his wrist. “I mean it.” He’d been about to say that even before Bruce dug up the one in his bag.

“You sure?” Even if Clark was sure, Bruce wasn’t certain that _he_ was. But he couldn’t look away from Clark’s eyes, inviting, drawing him in. Somehow Bruce trusted him. That was crazy. Trust wasn’t just handed over to some attractive stranger you met on a train. But he couldn’t ignore the feeling of it in his gut; it _was_ trust.

“I’m sure.” Clark leaned up on his elbows, kissing him, nuzzling at Bruce’s lips. He felt the weight of Bruce’s briefs against him, that tempting, heavy heat of him. “Come on.”

Bruce cupped his face with his left hand, fingers splayed over Clark’s cheek as they kissed.

He slicked himself and leaned in, nestled between Clark’s own broad thighs. Bruce adjusted himself, but Clark was already so relaxed, so ready. The angle wasn’t right first. There was an awkward thrust and Clark giggled slightly under his breath, then apologized, and then Bruce thrust a little deeper. Clark’s hips rose to meet him, and there, god, _there_. He gazed down at Clark in helpless wonder.

Clark had his hands inside Bruce’s shirt, stroking his nipples, touching his chest, holding him as they moved. A litany of wordless murmurs passed through Bruce’s mind as he pushed higher, taking Clark with him.

Clark gripped the window-seat ledge above his head as Bruce thrust harder. He was sweating in his thick sweater, god why hadn’t he pulled it off? Bruce’s hips moved faster and faster. His thighs were fighting his jeans. If he split his jeans having sex on a train, he’d have a great story to tell Lois and he’d never be able to look his mom in the face again.

Bruce’s hands gripped his, fingers biting into the polished wood as he came. Clark felt the peace of it settle through Bruce’s body as he exhaled. Utter relaxation in every limb as he pulled out. He laid there beside Clark, his hand now on Clark’s stomach.

Clark stayed right there, not wanting to move. He was aware of everything and nothing at the same time. The cold windowpane above his head just beyond his fingertips, the flattened cushion under his elbow. The rucked up hem of his sweater. Most of all he was aware of Bruce's hand laying on his stomach. Heat and blood and humanity, all coursing through this one hand connected to this man lying beside him, touching him.

It was extraordinary. It was simple. He placed his own hand over Bruce's, tracing a faint thin scar curving over a vein.

"You know what I'm thinking?" Bruce spoke without opening his eyes.

 _How much you want to do that again?_ Clark thought. _Please let it be that._

"Tell me." He stroked lighter, feeling the feathery softness of Bruce's fingertips, the faint callouses on his knuckles.

"Champagne." Bruce sat up. His fingers interlocked with Clark's, squeezing his hand. "How does that sound?"

"Expensive," Clark said honestly, "Nice but expensive."

Bruce's smile widened. He really was amused at Clark’s concern. How much money did he make? Clark didn't even want to know. _Don’t ask, Clark, just don’t ask. If he can afford it, let him spend it._

"Don't worry about it."

"Okay." Clark watched Bruce stretch, admiring the way his shirt clung to his shoulders.

Bruce glanced at him. “You okay?” He brushed a lock of hair back from Clark’s sweat-dampened forehead.

“Yeah.” Clark murmured. He was fantastic.

“Good.” Bruce brought Clark’s hand up to his mouth and kissed his fingers. “Because in about half an hour or so, I’m going to fuck you again, but this time on the bunk, and you’re going to be completely naked so I can kiss every bare inch of you.”

Clark’s dick stirred at the suggestion and Bruce grinned.

* * *

“But first,” Bruce hit the buzzer. “Champagne.”

“You gonna answer the door naked?” Clarke asked. That would definitely let the porter know what they were doing. Not that there could be any doubt as to what they’d been doing in here. The entire suite stunk of sex. He managed to get his jeans back up to around his hips and tugged his sweater down.

Bruce grinned and dragged on his robe, lazily tying the belt. When the porter came he gave him the order and shut the door again. “Now, where were we?” He came back over to the window seat, hands in his robe pockets.

“How about I remind you?” Clark leaned up and kissed him. Their foreheads bumped and Bruce winced, laughing ruefully.

“Sorry about that.” Clark nodded at the bruise.

“S’okay.” Bruce told him. “You can make it up to me.”

Clark laughed.

“Bunk.” Bruce nodded at it.

“How about we wait till the champagne comes?” Clark countered. If he moved to the bed now he knew exactly what would happen.

Bruce leaned against the table, crossing his arms impatiently.

Clark sat up and tried not to wince as he straightened his back out. “No more window seat sex.”

“You’re the one who picked it.” Bruce reminded.

Clark opened his mouth to retaliate but there was a knock at the door.

Bruce dipped his hand into his robe pocket and rewarded the porter with a folded bill. _Just how much money did he keep stashed in his bathrobe?_ Clark added that to questions he wasn’t sure he wanted answered. Instead he finally moved to the bunk as Bruce popped the cork.

The champagne was ice cold, refreshing and delicious. Clark drank a glass, letting the bubbly sensation curl around his toes. This was the first time he’d drunk champagne in the middle of the day for no particular reason. He liked it.

“Come here.” Bruce leaned in and kissed him.

* * *

The second time was even better. Bruce kept his word, divesting Clark of every piece of clothing until he was lying flat on his back, naked as the day he first came to earth. Bruce kept his shirt on, but removed his boxers.

This time Clark got his mouth on him, working his way down Bruce’s chest to his thighs and stomach before sucking the tip of his cock. Bruce let him until he was couldn’t hold back any longer. He pulled Clark up into his lap again, easing back into him, Clark’s legs wrapped around his waist as they fucked, his hands on Bruce’s ass, pulling him closer.

* * *

Bruce stretched, enjoying the way his muscles relaxed. He scratched at his jaw before getting out of bed and reaching again for his robe.

“Could always leave it off.” Clark mumbled, emerging from the sheets. His hair was ruffled, cheeks flushed, the epitome of absolutely fuckable.

“It’s too chilly.” Bruce said, tying the belt.

“Chilly? After all that sex?”

“Even after all that.” Bruce picked up the champagne. The bottle was still cold, swimming in melting ice. He removed the cork, and picked up a glass to fill it.

“Here.” He handed one to Clark who sat up, mumbling his thanks.

Bruce poured one for himself and came back to bed, stretching out atop the covers. His shirt collar stuck out over his robe. Clark resisted the urge to straighten it out.

“So…” He took a sip of champagne. “What do you do?” He half chuckled at the question.

“What’s so funny?” Bruce drank his champagne. Clark’s throat vibrated with his laughter, his chest shaking with humor. God, he was beautiful. An unearthly perfect Adonis who had somehow wound up in Bruce’s bed by pure sweet accident. And that was where Bruce intended to keep him for the whole weekend if he had any say in the matter.

“Normally I get to know someone’s profession before all this.” Clark waved his hand. This was definitely a departure for him. Couldn’t say he regretted it though.

Bruce turned his head, gazing up at the ceiling. “We just had fantastic sex, and you want to talk about work?” This was exactly what he had been afraid of.

“I’m just curious, that’s all.” Clark told him. “I tell you my job, you tell me yours. I work at-“

“Hey, nope, no shop talk.” Bruce cut him off. The last thing he wanted to do was get into their lives back home. That wouldn’t lead anywhere good.

“Okay, okay.” Clark held up his hand. He drained his champagne and reached out a long arm for the bottle. “More?”

“Please.” Bruce held out his glass.

“So if we can’t talk shop, what can we do?” Clark was willing to let that particular topic go, but he was still curious, damnit. Where did a handsome intelligent, single guy like Bruce come from? There was _something_ there. It was only Bruce’s obvious reluctance at talking about it that kept him from asking more. Except, Clark’s eyes narrowed.

“Hang on, you’re not married, are you?” There hadn’t been a ring on Bruce’s finger, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. Lots of men didn’t wear rings.

“No, I’m not married.” Bruce smiled at him.

“Good.” Clark sighed in relief. “So…”

Bruce leaned over to kiss his neck. “I can give you an idea or two.”

Clark turned and captured Bruce’s mouth. His fingers curled around the collar of Bruce’s bathrobe, slipping his fingertips under it, caressing his skin. The conversation was forgotten as the kiss deepened. Clark rolled on top of Bruce, working his way down the man’s chest as the robe slowly unfurled. Bruce shrugged it off. Clark drew up his shirt and paused, lips above Bruce’s stomach. There was a raised scar there that looked like the memory of it was ugly. He traced his tongue over it, feeling Bruce go still under him. Clark did it a second time, dragging the tip of his tongue along it slowly, before he looked up.

“Can I take your shirt off?”

“All right.” Bruce laid back and Clark reached for the buttons. He undid each one carefully, bestowing a kiss in its place before slipping it from his shoulders.

There were more scars scattered here and there across Bruce’s torso. One on the shoulder from a knife wound, a bullet scar on his chest. What did he do that he’d gotten all these scars? He could tell Bruce was waiting for him to ask, and instead he just kissed them.

Bruce tensed slightly as Clark’s hands settled on his thighs. His robe had fallen over his lap and Clark started to pull it aside.

“When was the last time you...” Clark let his words trail off. The heat of Bruce just underneath the robe was driving him crazy.

“Go on.” Bruce gazed at him. “Say what you were intending.” He had a feeling he already knew.

Clark shrugged. “It’s just….some men don’t want to, and that’s fine, just…”

“You like topping too.” Bruce said. God, he wished it wasn’t so damn easy to picture.

Clark shrugged again. “I like both.” And the thought of topping Bruce sent blood rushing straight to his dick.

“I have some trust issues that don’t translate well to the bedroom.” Bruce admitted. He leaned back, examining Clark thoughtfully.

"That's all right," Clark said. "No worries." He wasn't going to push it.

Bruce was still studying him. "You said usually you know what a person does before this part."

"Yeah?"

"How often does that happen?" How did people have time for a relationship? Even a fling sounded dangerously time consuming.

"Not that often." Clark admitted. "My work’s gotten a lot busier since," he cut himself off, remembering that Bruce wanted to leave it impersonal. It made it easier on him as well for that matter. There were things he didn’t want to talk about either.

"What about you?"

"Like I said. This is the first break I've had in uh..." Bruce scratched at his jaw, "I can't remember. Free time isn't something I have a lot of." He half expected Clark to laugh. That was the typical response to Bruce Wayne making a comment like that.

Instead Clark nodded. He reached for Bruce’s hand, laying his over Bruce’s palm. "Then we'd better make the most of the time we have."

* * *

_Three hours later._

Clark tried in vain to get his hair to behave, but it refused. He made a disgruntled noise at the mirror. “It looks like I’ve been living in a cave.”

“Relax.” Bruce finished buttoning up his shirt. “It looks fine.” He liked Clark’s post-sex hair. Frankly he just liked Clark’s hair in general. Even now his fingers itched to be combing through it, making Clark’s eyes close in that second before he surrenders completely to the caress.

Clark just shook his head in exasperation.

* * *

There was a taxi waiting for Bruce when the train pulled into the station. Clark balanced his skis against his shoulder. “So…” There was a shuttle to the lodge. That had been his plan.

“Share my taxi.” Bruce held the door. “Come on, it just makes sense.”

“At some point you’re gonna get sick of me.” Clark warned, but slung his skis over the rack at the back of the taxi.

“Tell you what,” Bruce leaned against the taxi open door. “When that happens, I’ll let you know.”

“Deal.” Clark climbed into the taxi.

 

_The World Was White With Snow_

 

The taxi drive up to the lodge was quiet. Clark was watching the moon rise over the snowy slopes, dotted with pine trees. Bruce leaned in his corner of the back seat, watching Clark.

“This is amazing.” Clark murmured, still gazing out the window. Bruce kept his comments to himself, but his hand strayed over Clark’s thigh.

Clark glanced at him as the taxi pulled up to the lodge.

“What cabin are you in?” Bruce asked as they unloaded their bags.

“8.” Clark said. “You?” He watched Bruce pay the taxi driver.

“11.” Bruce reached for his bag. “What are your thoughts on dinner?”

“I think it’s a good meal.” Clark told him. He had an inkling of what Bruce was going to suggest, but he didn’t want to assume anything. For once he just wanted to see what would happen next. He had meant what he said; he didn’t want Bruce to get sick of him. It was tempting to leave things where they were after the train. It would be hard to top those four glorious hours.

“Would you like to join me in the dining room then in…say…” Bruce checked his watch. “About an hour?”

“I’d like that.” Clark said. “See you in an hour.” He turned down the path towards his cabin, whistling slightly as he walked.

* * *

Bruce set his bag on the floor and looked around the cabin. It was pleasant, comfortable. Alfred had picked a good resort. Peaceful, quiet, not too many other people. The lodge was owned by a couple in their fifties. (Bruce had done a quick check on the place, habit.)

“It’s fine.” Alfred had told him. “I do know how to research, sir.”

“I trust you completely, Alfred, but when was the last time you went skiing? The slopes are completely different if you –“

“Whatever you say, sir.” Alfred murmured.

Bruce rolled his eyes.

He’d have to tell Alfred good choice. Bruce walked into the bathroom and got the shower started.

* * *

Clark showered quickly, whistling as he did. He dried his hair with a towel as he started to get ready for dinner. He eyed the neatly made bed waiting for him, remembering what he’d told Bruce on the train. Clark grinned. It was tempting to go skiing tonight. He did like night skiing. Maybe after dinner.

He pulled on jeans and a t-shirt before digging out his good cashmere sweater, gift from his mom last Christmas. He’d nearly not brought it and at the last minute Martha had laid it out on his bed.

“Why do I need to take that? There’s not going to be anyone there to see me in it.”

“You never know.” She’d said. “Take it. Just in case.”

So he’d tossed it in his duffel and now Clark had to say he was glad. At least he knew it looked good on him.

* * *

Clark walked into the entryway of the lodge and looked around. The main building hosted a lounge area with a massive fireplace, surrounded by several couches and armchairs. There was a breakfast nook off to the left, and then the dining room to the right. He spotted Bruce seated in a corner of the dining area, doodling something on his napkin. He glanced up as Clark approached and stood.

“Good evening.” Clark was suddenly self-conscious in his sweater and jeans, even though Bruce was equally casual in a pair of black slacks and black turtleneck.

“Good evening.” Bruce nodded at him as he took a seat. “God, I hope you’re hungry. I think we’re the only guests here at the moment and I have the feeling they desperately want to cook for someone tonight.” He gestured to the empty coffee cup in front of him. “I’ve already had two refills. At this rate I’m going to be awake all night.”

“So no pressure.” Clark reached for a menu. He caught Bruce grinning and glanced over his shoulder to see somebody peeking out of the kitchen at them and then ducking out of sight again. “Oh boy.”

“You got that right.” Bruce perused his own menu. “The steak looks good. Everything looks good.”

“It does.” Clark agreed. After their afternoon with all the sex, and the champagne, he was ravenous. “I think I’ll have the smoked salmon.”

A woman in a blue evening dress took their orders. “The filet mignon, and a bottle of Merlot.” Bruce added, handing over the wine menu he’d already perused.

“I’ll be right back with that.” She smiled at him.

Bruce sat back in his chair, eyeing Clark over the table. Did he just have an endless supply of sweaters designed to make Bruce want to fuck him senseless?

“Whatever you’re thinking about, keep it to yourself.” Clark reaching for the napkin Bruce had been doodling on.

Bruce smirked. “Sure you don’t want to know?”

“Think I’ve got a pretty good idea, thanks.” Clark studied the doodle. Penciled outline of a city skyline. Gotham. “You like living there?”

“Can’t really imagine being anywhere else.” Bruce picked up the napkin and folded it over before crumpling it up. “Ah, here’s the wine.”

The hostess brought out their wine, still smiling at Bruce as she did. He kept his expression polite, but what if she recognized him? He willed her to go away before she said anything and spilled everything in front of Clark.

“Good wine.” Clark said, eying the bottle. At least it looked good.

“Mhm,” Bruce said.

A rosy-cheeked woman in her late-sixties helped bring out their meal. “I’m Mrs. Hale. My husband and I have owned this lodge since we were younger than you two. We’re just tickled pink to have you staying. You boys enjoy,” She smiled widely at them. “Eat up.”

“Thank you.” Clark smiled back at her. She squeezed his shoulder, smiled again at Bruce and then went back to the kitchen with the first woman.

Bruce breathed a sigh of relief and reached for the bottle. “Wine?”

“Thank you.”

Through the wide bay window they had an open view of the thick pine trees framing the dark starry sky. The night had faded to a deep mellifluous blue, offset by the sparkling white of the snow. The scene was breathtaking.

“To getting away from it all.” Bruce held up his glass. “Cheers.”

“Cheers.” Clark clinked his glass against Bruce’s. They caught each other’s eye and Bruce’s gaze lingered on Clark’s lips before he took a sip.

* * *

After their dinner Clark suggested they go back to the kitchen to tell Mrs. Hale that the meal was delicious. She was delighted by the compliment, insisting on fixing up pieces of freshly baked cream cake to take back to their cabins for a late dessert.

“I can’t even imagine eating another bite.” Bruce carried the plate of cake carefully as they headed back towards the cabins.  
  
“Save it for later and you’ll be glad you have it.” Clark paused at the point where the path divided. Bruce stopped as well.  
  
"I should say goodnight." Clark said. It had been an incredible day. The last thing he wanted to do now was ruin it. Although he didn't really think it could be ruined. Not with how Bruce was looking at him.

"Stay the night with me." Bruce's free hand slipped along the hem of Clark’s sweater, seeking the heat of his skin. He couldn't keep his hands off him. He wanted to touch Clark forever.

Clark hesitated. "You sure you want me to?" He was pretty sure everything he’d ever read would advise him to take a step back at this point.

"I'm sure." Bruce brushed his lips over Clark’s.

* * *

They left the cake on the island counter and Bruce waved Clark to the bed. “I’ve got pajamas if you want.”

“I can sleep in my briefs.” Clark said. “If you’re sure.”

“I am more than sure that I want to see you sleep in your briefs.” Bruce went into the bathroom to brush his teeth.

There was an email waiting on his laptop when he came out. “Sorry, I have to read this really quick,”

“Just gonna close my eyes for a second.” Clark yawned, laying down on the bed. He was already undressed, stretched out in his briefs and socks.

“Go ahead.” Bruce scrolled down, reading. “I just have to check one thing and then I’ll…” He glanced up to see Clark already asleep. How was he so cute? He was a grown man for pete’s sake! Bruce shook his head and went back to his email.

There was a text from Alfred waiting when he checked his phone. _Hope you’re having a pleasant evening, Master Bruce._ There was an attached picture of a glass of wine and a book. Bruce smiled. He set his phone down and looked back at Clark.

Clark was sound asleep, blankets drawn up to his chest, face nestled into the pillow. Bruce sat back, watching the gray-shirt move faintly with each even, relaxed breath.

At last Bruce stretched out beside him on the bed. Clark shifted slightly but didn’t stir. Bruce hesitated, and then gave in to the urge. His fingertips brushed over Clark’s soft hair. He stroked it gently just once and then removed his hand.

Bruce sighed and lay back against the pillows. He was thoroughly pleasantly exhausted in the best possible way and he hadn't even gone skiing yet. And there was still all of tomorrow lying ahead of them. He turned off the light and crawled under the covers.

* * *

In the middle of the night Bruce woke with the sickening panicky sensation of realizing another body was touching his. He reached up a cautious hand and found Clark draped around him like a Siberian husky.

 _Oh_.

Bruce nudged at him, but Clark didn’t budge. Bruce gave up and settled in for the night. At last he fell asleep to the sound of Clark’s breathing.

* * *

When Clark woke up in the morning Bruce was already seated at the kitchen island, drinking coffee.

"Good morning." Clark said sleepily. The clock by the bed said eight-thirty but Bruce looked like he’d been awake for some time.

"Morning." Bruce looked up from his coffee.

"You're up early." Clark propped himself up on his elbows, surveying him across the room.

"I'm used to just sleeping a few hours a night." Bruce explained. There was a brief pause, and then he added, "Work."

"Oh." Clark scratched at his scalp and sat up. "Any of that left?"

"How do you want it?" Bruce poured a mug for him.

"Milk if there is any."

"There's fresh cream." Bruce held it up.

"That'll do." Clark yawned. He stood up, dropping the sheets.

Bruce poured the cream, watching Clark as he retrieved his jeans from the floor. Yesterday was still real. It had all been real. He held out the cup silently as Clark pulled on his jeans.

"Thanks." Clark took a grateful sip. He leaned on the counter, hands cupping the mug as he looked out at the landscape. “Did it snow more last night?”

“I think so.” Bruce topped off his coffee. “So…”

"So." Clark repeated.

Bruce leaned across the counter and kissed him. Clark tasted of cream and dark roast. His lips yielded, pressing against Bruce's own.

Bruce drew back. Clark had a delightfully dazed expression in his eyes. Bruce glanced down to see his hand clutching the hot mug. "Hey, is your hand okay?"

"It's fine." Clark assured him.

"If you say so." Bruce was dubious.

"So,” Clark took another sip. “Breakfast?"

"Breakfast."

They were heading off towards the main lodge when Bruce’s phone rang. He took it out of his pocket, and sighed. “I have to take this. You should probably go ahead.”

“Sure.” Clark said. “See you on the slopes?”

“Yeah.” Bruce was already retracing his steps towards the cabin, his phone at his ear. He’d set up a business deal with a new company and naturally they wanted to discuss the terms of the merger now. He sent off a quick series of texts that should take care of the matter for now. He was on vacation. Didn’t they get that?

* * *

Clark had a quick breakfast, eager to be out on the slopes. As soon as he was done he headed back to his cabin to get dressed in his ski clothes. Bruce would catch up with him.

He stepped out into the fresh snow, taking in the crisp air. This was why his mom had given the trip to him. She knew he would enjoy it and would only go along with it if she made him.

“You deserve a break.” Martha had said in the kitchen while he was still holding the envelope with the ticket. “Maine’s beautiful this time of year. Go. Have fun.”

“How can I take a break?” Clark had thumbed the reservation ticket absently, gazing out the window. He had barely got enough time to come home to visit for Christmas. The paper was busier and busier this year. Perry was throwing more stories his way, but still never gave them to him first. And then there was leaving Metropolis in the first place. He’d gotten used to being there, its citizens, its streets.

But this, this place was just what he needed.

_“It’s in the quiet that you learn the volume of your own thoughts.”_

Clark took a deep breath, breathing in the fresh winter air. _Father, you are always with me._

He strapped on his skis and took the lift up to the highest slope. No one else was up yet this early. He had it completely to himself. Clark checked his goggles, tightened his straps and then he was away, shooting down the slope. This was the closest he was going to get to flying in the broad daylight without an emergency. He’d take it.

At the break before the next slope he paused, taking in the view. The snow was so white it was all he could see for miles.

As he was standing there, another skier whipped by him, a long lean streak of black flying over the snow. Clark admired his form for a moment, and then took off after him. They raced gracefully side by side down the snow-covered slopes. The other skier glanced over at him and grinned.

It was like a flame had been lit in the center of his heart. For a second there on the sun-dazzled snow Clark was blinded by the overwhelming sense of warmth for the man at his side.

That wasn’t the right word but he’d just met Bruce. He couldn’t say the other word yet. That was ludicrous. He kept his head down and went faster, trying to ignore it.

The ridge in the snowbank came out of nowhere. Clark went left and Bruce flew right. Tumbling, rolling over, Clark landed in a heap. He lay there, dazed. The sky was very blue overhead, and the snow was very white, and he was just going to lie there until things felt a little more sturdy again.

Bruce spat out a mouthful of snow. “Ow.”

Clark grinned from where he was.

“Are you alright?” Bruce asked from where he was. “Any broken bones, anything not as it should be?”

“I’m fine,” Clark said conversationally. More than fine, really. The snow was cold but the way Bruce was looking at him warmed him straight through to his core. Whatever this feeling was, Clark liked it.

He sat up, brushing snow off his face, wincing at the cold. “Hey.’

"Hey," Bruce grimaced as he sat up. "How was that?"

"I've seen better." Clark said with a straight face. Bruce just looked at him and finally he started laughing.

"Here, I'll help you with that.” He reached over to pull Clark up and instead pulled him down beside him.

“Are you really okay?” Bruce inquired. His breath warmed Clark’s cheek. His gloves brushed Clark’s jaw and he caught his breath.

“Ask me again.” Clark whispered.

“Are you really okay?” Bruce murmured, stroking his Clark’s chin with his thumb.

“Really.” Clark said firmly. Then, “I’ll prove it to you.”

“How do you intend to that?”

Clark drew him further down in the snow.

 

_We Held Hands Completely, Light-Hearted_

They caught the lift back down to the cabins, kissing over the arms of their seats. Soon as they were on the ground and had their skis off, Bruce pulled Clark into his arms again. For the first time in forever he didn’t care what anyone thought. This wasn’t for show, this was just because he wanted. He wanted to stand there next to the ski lift and kiss Clark so he did.

“Skiing agrees with you,” Clark’s words came out breathless.

“Shower, now.” Bruce tugged at his sweater.

“My cabin this time.” Clark said. “Come on.” He grinned. “I’ll race you.”

He took off like a bullet. “Damn it.” Bruce ran after him. _Where did the kid get the energy?_ He caught up with Clark right at the cabin. Bruce pinned him against the door.

“You’re crushing the wreath.” Clark murmured.

“Shut up.” Bruce kissed him. “Shower.”

“Shower.” Clark agreed.

Clark fumbled with the door, getting it open. “Come on.” He pulled at his sweater, pulling it over his head. Bruce pulled at his boots, pulling them off. He took in the layout of the cabin with a glance. Clark’s cabin was similarly designed to his. At least the bed was still big enough.

Their clothes were discarded, strewn in a line across the floor. Clark got the shower going and stepped inside. His pulse was running like a horse escaping the corral. Bruce entered the shower and closed the glass door behind him.

“Not really enough room.”

“There’s enough room.” Bruce advanced.

Clark hit the shower wall as Bruce firmly gripped his torso. He licked a long stripe down his Clark’s chest, grinning at him as he sank to his knees. Clark flattened his palms against the wall as Bruce’s tongue danced over his shaft. The steam rose in the shower, dampening Clark’s curls to his forehead.

The water pattered down on atop Bruce’s dark hair, running down his bare back. Clark gazed at the sight of him, the curve of Bruce’s bare spine as his head moved steadily between Clark’s thighs. Bruce’s fingers dug into his thighs and Clark slumped slightly against the wall. His legs trembled as Bruce drove him closer and closer to the edge. Clark’s lips parted, and he came with a silent gasp down Bruce’s throat.

For a second he stood there, trying to regain feeling in his knees as Bruce got to his feet. Bruce brushed his fingers over Clark’s lip.

“Turn around.”

Clark braced his palms against the wall, spreading his thighs further apart. Bruce’s left hand curled around his hip as slicked fingers eased into him. Bruce’s mouth grazed the back of his neck, as he worked him open.

Clark groaned as Bruce thrust inside him. Bruce’s hands were on his hips, his lips on Clark’s neck. He remembered Bruce’s smile, as they lay there in the snow earlier, snow on his lashes and lips. If he slowed time and kept them here in this moment, would that be so wrong?

Bruce came, gripping Clark even harder. He wrapped his arms tighter around Clark, kissing his shoulder. “Christ, what you do to me.”

It was on the tip of Clark’s tongue to ask, _So what’s your last name? Tell me how I can reach you. I don’t want to lose this._

Instead he turned round to face Bruce. “You’re telling me.” He kissed Bruce’s mouth tenderly, his jaw, down his neck, and then up to his lips again. Bruce rested his forehead against Clark’s, just holding him as the water coursed down their bodies.

* * *

Clark moved the comb through his still damp hair. At least it looked halfway civilized tonight. He glanced in the mirror at Bruce still sprawled on the bed, blankets pulled up to his shoulders.

“We really do have to emerge for dinner.”

“Do we?” Bruce murmured without opening his eyes. He was perfectly satisfied staying right where he was.

“You pointed out yourself. We’re the only guests here.” Clark couldn’t even imagine disappointing their hostess. “Think of how empty the dining room would be.”

Bruce sighed and pulled the blankets over his face.

* * *

This evening the dining room was bathed in soft candlelight. There was a glow from the fire as it burned merrily in the massive fireplace. At least there was one other guest that evening, a brunette woman sitting alone with a glass of wine and a book as she ate. She paid them no attention as they walked in.

“Good,” Bruce whispered. “We can leave early.”

Clark ignored him.

* * *

At some point during dinner, a man took a seat at the piano in another corner. His aged fingers still moved gracefully over the keys. Candlelight danced over the sheen of the piano. The Christmas tree was still holding court in by the fireplace. The ambiance was just what Bruce liked, comfortable and private. He folded his napkin and set it down. Clark was smiling at the music.

“Must be our host.” Bruce nodded at the musician.

Bruce rose to his feet and held out his hand. Clark looked at him in surprise.

“Dance with me?”

“All right.”

Clark placed his hand in his and they walked over to the fire place. The fire crackled. Bruce’s palm was warm in Clark’s, his hand on Clark’s waist, held him close. Tomorrow they’d be heading back to Gotham.

_I don’t want this to be over._

“Big plans for the new year?” Bruce asked.

Clark shifted a little in his arms. “Oh, you know.”

Bruce took that as a signal not to talk any more. Instead he moved a little closer. Clark appreciated it. His hands were gentle on the back of Bruce’s shirt, drawing him in.

They moved gracefully together, matched in easy rhythm. In the firelight Clark’s eyes were dark and bright and Bruce felt himself wanting to know everything about him. All the questions he hadn’t let himself ask, all the things left unsaid were there just waiting. Instead Bruce leaned in to taste his lips and they stood there, kissing as the last notes from the piano died away.

* * *

Clark kept his hand in Bruce’s all the way back to the cabin.

“Hey, you know what you asked about on the train?” Bruce asked casually.

“Which?”

“You know.”

“Oh.” Clark nodded. “That…”

“So,” Bruce strove for nonchalance. “You want a turn?”

“My turn.” Clark grinned. “Really?”

Bruce grinned back. “What do you say, whoever pins the other first?”

Clark just stared at him. “You want to wrestle this out?”

“Are you saying you don’t want to?”

“I would never speak such an untruth.” Clark declared. “But only if you want.”

“Oh, I want.” Bruce said. “My cabin or yours?”

“Depends,” Clark squeezed his hand. “Where would you like to see yourself surrender?”

Bruce laughed. “In that case, definitely yours.”

* * *

 Clark opened the door and stopped. “Hey, was there anything in the brochure about fires getting lit in the cabins in the evening?”

“Nope.” Bruce looked over his shoulder “Cozy.”

“Hey,” Clark started, “Nevermind.”

“What?”

“Just, do you think they did this on purpose?” Clark gestured towards the fire. “Do those pillows look plumped to you?”

“How did they know we’d be in your cabin?” Bruce looked around. “Hey, there’s wine on the counter too.”

“We’ll drink it after.” Clark clasped his face and leaned in to kiss him.

Bruce’s hands skimmed down his chest to tug at his belt. “You ready to go?”

“Say the word.”

“First one down.” Clark’s teeth grazed along Bruce’s jaw and he pulled off. “Go."

“Clothes off or on?” Bruce licked his lips.

“Off.” Clark grinned. “Makes it more fun.”

“You’re not wrong.” Bruce pulled at his shirt collar, unbuttoning it just enough to pull it over his head.

Once they were naked they faced each other again. Bruce cast a long look over Clark from his bare toes to the hair curling over his forehead.

“Wine now or later?”

“Are you serious?”

Bruce shrugged.

Clark shook his head. “You’re just trying to distract me.”

“Is it so transparent?” Bruce moved in. Clark was on his guard, but Bruce just kissed him. His hands brushed over Clark’s shoulders. Clark relaxed for a fraction of a second, and then Bruce’s foot was between his ankles, knocking him sideways. Clark grunted, but held his grip firm on Bruce’s hip, pulling him down with him.

Clark kept going and flipped them. Bruce grunted and snaked an arm over his waist. They were evenly matched in this as well. He’d known they would be.

Clark got the upper hand and Bruce pushed against him, testing. When Clark didn't give way at all his grin widened in spite of himself. "Well, well."

It was rare that he got any kind of resistance in bed. You could only play the rough sex card so many times before people started noticing and comparing stories. Bruce Wayne had a reputation to control. This Bruce however did not. He smiled up at Clark enjoying the view of the broad muscles chest stretched out overtop him.

"You want to play." He watched the subtle shift in Clark's body; how he registered the attack before it came. Professional, ready, anticipatory. Bruce made a note of that and then he moved.

Clark was ready for it, and the jolt still rocked his body when Bruce surged upward underneath him. He rolled heavily to his side, Bruce rolling with him. Clark wasted no time in retaliating. His hands caught Bruce's wrists, pinning them flat. Bruce kicked out and Clark straddled him. Clark held him flat while Bruce tried in in vain to attack with his lower torso. He leaned back, subduing Bruce's attempts.

"Well?"

Bruce slowly subsided. His instincts still rose up but he was past the point for normal response. If he attacked now-

"Give it to me." Clark leaned into him.

"What?"

"Whatever you’re thinking of, just give it to me." Clark gazed down at him and then pressed his entire body alongside Bruce's, length to length, groin to groin. Bruce sucked in a breath as Clark's dick brushed against his. He grunted, sucking in his breath as Clark settled more comfortably against his torso. He could get used to this.

"Hey," Clark's fingers rubbed his wrists.

"Hey." Bruce murmured. He weighed his chances and then shoved hard. They rolled again, smacking into the side of the bed. Bruce thrust upward and Clark pressed downward, fingers biting into skin, legs braced against legs. Bruce underneath him, burning against his skin, heat racing along his veins. Time slowed and this was all there was. _Why couldn't this last forever?_ Bruce wrapped his arms around him and rolled.

Clark laughed. “Shoulda seen that coming.”

Bruce pinned his wrists to the carpet. “You were saying.” He rocked his hips lazily against Clark’s, loving the way the young man reacted. Clark was an open book, how much he was enjoying this. Bruce leaned down for another kiss. The heat between them wasn’t his imagination. There was something more here and he liked it.

For one brief moment he let himself picture how it would go. They’d meet up for dinner. He’d take Clark home with him. And then he’d see the manor, and remember everything he’d ever heard about Bruce Wayne, and it would be over.

And then Clark rolled them easily. “You really sure?” He asked again.

Bruce laughed. He pushed slightly only to have Clark’s grip held firm. Bruce gazed up at him in surprise. “You know what you’re doing, don’t you?”

“Whatever gave you the impression that I didn’t?” Clark’s lips twitched.

Bruce pushed back again and Clark still refused to yield. A scenario of moves went through Bruce’s mind, how he could get out of this. But the truth was, he didn’t want to get out of it. He liked being exactly where he was. Stretched out underneath a completely naked Clark was ideal as situations went.

For once he was perfectly content to lie there underneath his opponent. "I think you win."

"Really?" Clark's eyebrows rose along with his shirt hem as he rubbed along Bruce's hips. There was an answering pressure against his thigh. “You surrender?” Clark leaned down, his lips a breath away from Bruce’s

“Only to you.”

Bruce arched into the kiss, his stomach pressed against Clark’s. Clark’s fingers traced over his wrists, his grip growing more tender.

 _Okay. This was happening_. Bruce watched Clark’s mouth make his way down his chest, leaving his wrists free.

"Just relax." Clark brushed a kiss over Bruce's tense stomach.

"Easy for you to say." Bruce slowly unclenched his wrists. It had almost been easier when Clark was restraining him. How could he even be thinking of taking a risk like this? All his instincts were screaming to get out of this and do a full background check on Clark. He could be anyone. This could definitely be a trap.

"Hey." Clark's hand on his calf drew Bruce's attention back to him. "You don't have to. It's okay."

"But you won."

Clark shrugged. "That's alright."

It really was. Bruce could see it in his eyes. So he could take a risk every once in a while. It wasn't as though he didn't want this. He did.

"I want to."

"You sure?" Clark asked. His fingertips stroked gently along the inside of Bruce's ankle. He wanted this more than a lot of things, but not at the expense of Bruce’s comfort or trust.

"I'm sure."

“Okay.” Clark slipped down between his thighs. His fingers kneaded gentle circles into Bruce’s thighs, working at relaxing him as he sucked at the head of his cock. Only the tip, just enough to make Bruce twitch and hungry for more.

 Clark slicked two fingers and rubbed them over his hole. Bruce trembled slightly and Clark just kept moving, letting him get used to the sensation. Slowly, Bruce relaxed more. Clark took his time, until Bruce was clearly ready, even a little impatient before easing into him.

“You feel so good.” Clark whispered. He paced himself, making every thrust hit home just right.

Bruce arched back against him. “More.”

“Come here.” He tugged Bruce up on all fours, curving his hand through his hair, as he leaned down to kiss his bared throat. Bruce groaned and Clark just kissed his hair, curling a trail of heat along his spine as his other hand wrapped around Bruce’s cock.

Bruce closed his eyes, leaning back into the embrace. He felt so safe; it was ridiculous. Clark kept stroking him, holding him there as he moved inside Bruce’s body.

 

_The Way We Felt, We Never Felt_

They’d fallen asleep on the carpet. Clark opened one eye and stared at the ceiling. The fire had died down. He was slightly chilly now. The clock said it was two-thirty. Bruce was still asleep. Clark watched him for a moment and then, slowly, quietly, inched his way sideways so he could get up without disturbing Bruce.

He dressed silently and then covered Bruce with a blanket before leaving the cabin.

It was snowing again. Clark breathed in the scent of the fresh pines in the sharp clear air. He’d been looking forward to this trip even before he’d run into Bruce on the train and now, now it was stupid how happy he was, just standing there in the starry night as the snow fell. He held out his arms and spun in a slow circle, laughing silently as the snowflakes drifted onto his upturned face.

* * *

Bruce stood under the eaves of the cabin, watching the snow fall down over the trees. He’d woken up and found himself alone by the fire. Whether Clark was coming back or not, he couldn’t get back to sleep. A walk had sounded good, and now here he was. Alone in the night, like always.

In a surreal sort of way, the peaceful beauty of the scene was perfect. A perfect holiday escape, but unreal all the same. You couldn’t live here. But to have a break, to escape from the darkness, only for a few days. That was enough.

He turned his head and saw Clark standing out in the snow. He was wearing his sweater and jeans from earlier. He had to be cold, but he didn’t look it as he stood there. He merely gazed at the stars, head turned upward.

Bruce drank in the sight of him, dark curls and pale skin in the starlight. He hadn’t expected anything like this when he had left Gotham. This was not in the plan. Sometimes the unexpected was a true gift. Their time on the train, their time here at the lodge. It was so easy being with Clark it felt like a dream.

It was temping to try to hold on to it, but he knew how hard that would be back in the real world. Here there were no responsibilities, but it was a false, albeit wonderful bubble, waiting to be popped. And tomorrow it would be over. But that was tomorrow.

He took a step across the snow towards Clark. “Hey.”

Clark turned his head and saw him. “Hey.”

“Beautiful night.” Bruce nodded at the stars.

“Mesmerizing.” Clark said in agreement. He looked back up at the sky, smiling. “Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?”

“Not before yesterday.” Bruce murmured. Had it really only been that long?

Clark looked down at him. “You are…” he caught his words back. Whatever he’d been about to say was lost to the snowy silence as he leaned in to kiss Bruce’s warm lips.

Bruce cupped his face, each taste of his lips drawing him in deeper. Clark’s chest rested against his, Clark’s arms slipping around him, holding him. Snow and starlight, winter frost on skin and breath. Bruce drank every last bit of him in, not wanting to forget a thing.

He drew off, exhaling gently. “Come on, back to bed.”

Clark grinned. “I thought you’d never ask.”

His hand slipped down to cup Bruce’s ass as they walked back inside.

“Brrrr.” Bruce complained.

“You weren’t wearing a coat.” Clark grabbed the door and held it for him.

“I didn’t plan to be out there long.” Bruce told him. “Lured out there by the sight of attractive men who left me by the fire.”

Clark snickered. He nodded at the bed. “Get that warmed up while I get the fire going again.”

“Oh ho, boy scout?” Bruce slipped off his shoes and stretched out on the bed. “How many merit badges do you have?”

“Enough.” Clark blew lightly on the embers, and added more sticks. He was rewarded with a cheerful little blaze. He fed it slowly until it had grown into a steady flame. He added a small log and looked up.

Bruce lay back under the covers, one arm behind his head as he watched Clark. Clark straightened up. Bruce’s shirt was there on the floor, next to his slacks, and briefs.

“Are you already naked under there?”

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “What do you think?”

Clark went to wash his hands before he stripped off his clothes. He climbed into bed beside Bruce and Bruce pulled the covers up over him as well.

 

_Though The Snow Is Gone, The Romance Lingers On_

The next morning Bruce went back to his own cabin to pack. They were both taking the early train back into the city. There was no time for breakfast at the lodge though Clark made sure to tell Mrs. Hale that the vacation had been perfect. She blushed at the compliment.

“Thank you for the music the other night.” Bruce shook hands with the lodge keeper. “It was wonderful.”

“Why thank you.” Mr. Hale beamed. “You boys hurry back now, you hear?”

Clark just smiled, unwilling to say give any false hope. “Maybe next year.” Bruce said suddenly. _You never know._ He didn’t meet Clark’s eyes though as he said it _._

* * *

The train was right on time. There was no lingering on the platform, just a quick check to make sure they had all their belongings before they boarded the train.

Bruce had a suite reserved once again. He led the way, expecting Clark to follow just as before.

“Drink?”

“Before breakfast?”

“Yeah, you’re right…” Bruce still poured one. “One last toast to a good vacation?”

“Look, I know this was just a weekend thing,” Clark began, “but I really had a good time. I don’t…”

Bruce shook his head. “Come on, we agreed when we first met on the train, first names and that’s all.” He glanced down at his glass, drink untouched.

“You really don’t want to stay in touch?” Clark asked. He hated how he sounded. This wasn’t him. But he’d regret it later if he didn’t say something now.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.” Bruce’s hands were fists at his side. All he wanted to do was pull Clark close to him and hold him. “I’m in no place for a relationship right now and it wouldn’t be fair to you...”

There wasn’t anything more to say and Clark knew it. It still hurt like hell.

* * *

“Breakfast at least.” Bruce said at last. “Come on. You’ve gotta be hungry.”

The dining car was half empty. Bruce spilled his coffee and the waiter brought him another cup. Clark stared out the window trying not to let it get to him. Each moment that they just sat there, making banal, polite conversation was torture. He thought the scenery would never end.

Bruce eyed him. “Look.” He was desperate not to have this end on a bad note.

“You’re really sure about this?” Clark asked. One last time. That was all he’d say and then he’d shut up.

More than anything Bruce wanted to say no, that he’d changed his mind. That he wanted Clark to give him his number, and email and address so that he’d always be able to reach him. But it wasn’t safe, and it certainly wasn’t smart. He didn’t take stupid risks like that and he didn’t want to put Clark in danger either. This was best for both of them, even if felt like shit.

“I’m sorry,” Was all Bruce offered.

Disappointment settled in Clark’s eyes. He nodded, taking a shaky breath. “Okay.” He understood. And really, he didn’t have time for a relationship either, especially a long distance one.

Bruce signaled to the waiter to bring more coffee. He gulped down half his cup, burning his throat in the process.

“Come back to my suite?” Half plea, half joke. “Just…” He wasn’t ready for this to end. Not just yet.

“I think we’d better say goodbye here, if it’s all the same to you.” Clark cleared his throat. “I have some postcards I should have mailed, and….and, some work that I meant to get caught up on but, well, that didn’t happen, so…”

Bruce squashed his own disappointment. “Oh. All right. Yeah.” He didn’t want to say goodbye to Clark here in the breakfast car, damnit. He wanted to kiss him one last time. He wanted _Clark_ _._ He didn’t want to let Clark go.

Clark caught his eye over the table. “It was amazing, and you know it.” He leaned over the table and kissed Bruce right on the lips. He tasted like coffee and cream and Bruce half rose up out of his seat to meet him.

“Goodbye, Bruce.” Clark murmured. He got up from the table and made his way down the corridor to the lounge car.

Bruce sighed.

“More coffee, sir?”

 _Why not?_ He held out his cup.

* * *

On the train station Clark stood outside the luggage car, collecting his skis. He picked them up, balancing them over his shoulder. At the end of the platform he spotted Martha waiting for him. Clark broke into a smile.

“Mom!”

“Oh,” she wrapped her arms around him, skis and all. “Good lord, have you gotten even taller since you went away?”

“All that fresh air.” Clark hugged her tight. “You didn’t have to come all this way just to meet me.”

“I wanted to. Come on. Thought I’d do a little shopping.”

“Let me get that.”

“Oh, you already have enough stuff to carry.” She shooed him away from her shopping bag.

Clark smiled, slipping an arm around her waist as they walked down the steps together. “Gonna tell me what you found?”

“Nope.”

“You know Christmas is over, right?”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t still buy you presents.” Martha stated firmly.

* * *

Bruce watched Clark go through the crowd. His throat tightened. It would have been so easy to call after him, to say he’d made a mistake.

“Who was that, sir?” Alfred inquired.

“Just somebody I met on vacation.” Bruce sighed under his breath.

Alfred gave him a curious glance, but when Bruce said nothing more he continued, “The car is waiting.”

They walked out to the car. Bruce slung his bag in the open trunk and propped his skis on the rack. There was no sign of Clark anywhere in the busy parking lot. Loss flooded Bruce’s gut. Now it was too late. Sure he could track Clark down if he had to, but the moment was gone. They’d never again be able to meet as they had in that brief blissful moment in time. It was truly over now.

“I take you had a good holiday then?” Alfred asked.

“Yeah, you could say that.” He slammed the lid of the trunk. “Come on, Alfred. Let’s go home.”

 

_All of Our Summers_

 

_One month later_

“I’d like to thank the partners of Heller and Jackson for holding this meeting.” Bruce looked out over the crowd of reporters. God, he hated this. He kept the smile on his face as he wrapped up his speech. “It’s times like this that I can truly see the light of progress shining through industry.”

He caught sight of a face in the crowd, a tall reporter making notes on his phone. Bruce paused and the reporter looked straight at him. For a moment they simply gazed right at each other.

“I’m looking forward to showing you what Gotham has to offer,” Bruce finished. “Thank you.” He smiled again, giving a wave to the crowd before walking away.

“Mr. Wayne. Mr. Wayne!” The rest of the reporters followed after him, still holding out microphones.

Clark was still frozen in place.

_Fuck._

* * *

“Come in.” Clark answered the knock at his door. He didn’t look up as he tossed a pair of socks in his duffel bag. Socks, shaving kit, pajamas. He was ready to go back to Metropolis. He’d had enough of Gotham for a while. And that was before the press conference this morning and the most embarrassing moment of his life.

The man in the doorway coughed and finally Clark looked up.

Bruce Wayne stood there, hesitantly, and then he closed the door behind him. “So…”

“So this is why you didn’t want to talk shop.” Clark dropped another pair of socks in his bag and zipped it up. Frankly he couldn’t blame him. Bruce Fucking Wayne. Of all the people to meet on a skiing retreat…he’d never seen that one coming.

Bruce grimaced. “Surprised?”

“Not really.” Clark shrugged. “I knew it had to be something, but…” Bruce Wayne was a billionaire, and an asshole to all intents and purposes and rumors. He was nothing like the intelligent, dryly humorous, _fun_ man that Clark had spent that weekend with.

“So what now?” Bruce asked after the moment had stretched out awkwardly.

“You tell me.” Clark shrugged. “You came to my hotel room.” He really hadn’t expected that, not after seeing Bruce’s face up there at the podium. All those stories he had worked on. Sure Lois ran the big ones, but he should have known what Bruce Wayne looked like. He was a reporter, for god’s sake.

“Yeah,” Bruce took a step closer. “I did.”

“Why?”

“To say…Happy Valentine’s Day.”

“You’re early.”

“So what?” Bruce took another step.

“You don’t want a relationship. You told me that. Remember?” His throat tightened at the hurt. Clark looked down. It had made sense before. Now he understood even more.

“Maybe I changed my mind.” Bruce stood right in front of him now.

“Maybe it’s not that easy.”

“Maybe it is.” Bruce took his hand. “I thought I was doing the right thing, but the moment you walked away on the train I knew I’d made a mistake. I just couldn’t admit it until now.”

“Bruce.”

“Give me a chance to make it up to you.” Bruce touched Clark’s chin, drawing his face up to meet his gaze. “Clark, please.”

“Damnit.” Clark gazed into his eyes. “Supposing I hadn’t shown up at that press conference. Were you just gonna-“

Bruce kissed him.

All the objections humming through Clark’s brain faded into the distance. This was what he had missed, what he’d been thinking of ever since he’d walked away from Bruce that day on the train. This man and this kiss, and waiting and hoping.

He drew a shaky breath as Bruce exhaled. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Bruce repeated.

“Yeah,” Clark cupped his face. “I’ll prove it to you.” He kissed away Bruce’s laughter.

“So there’s a question I’ve been wanting to ask you.” Bruce said finally when he could speak again.

“Yeah? And what’s that?”

“What’s your last name?”

Clark grinned. “Kent. It’s Kent.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Clark Kent,” Bruce said, and kissed him again.


End file.
